Transcendental Incremental 14,15,16 Beats Poem by Dan Reynolds

The wherewithal within us all, remains a quest too far
If time should cease in times like these, but leave the door ajar
The door which guards us from ourselves, both keeping out and in
The doorway to the land of Elves, of pleasure and of sin

For therein lies the course, of course. The path to see the self
To poke, provoke and twist the joke we should leave on the shelf
As not all that derives from us, will surface as it should
Some sources lead to bitter seeds, not every core is good.

Lifetime's filter, out of kilter, clouding how and what we see
Let the door swing to and fro, revealing things I may yet be.
Contradictive contraband, once stowed away for fear of capture
Gilded over with the gloss of our internal self-made rapture.